


Letting Go

by Trawler



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal, Control, Fascination Regarding Erwin's Member, I'm Not Cleaning That Up, Light Bondage, M/M, Omorashi, Oral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 10:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15816864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trawler/pseuds/Trawler
Summary: Both the Commander and his Captain have stressful roles. Failures get people killed. Over the years, Erwin and Levi have developed their own coping mechanisms.





	1. Erwin's Kink

I heard a knock on my bedroom door and paused at the window, cleaning rag set to the pane. I’d come to recognise that peculiar knock over the years; commanding, yet with a touch of hesitation. As if the visitor wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d get... or what kind of reception he wanted.

“Come in.” I pulled the protective cloth off my hair and set both cloth and rag aside.

Commander Erwin entered the room. I’d been expecting him. At last night’s ball, after yet another attempt to secure funding for the troops, he’d been so thoroughly humiliated by the aristocracy that he’d be lucky to scrape back any credibility. I respected his resilience. 

“Is now a convenient time?” he asked, as if we were about to do little more than discuss training reports. 

“Of course.”

He closed the door. My cock began to stir, trapped against the confines of my uniform trousers. When I heard the click of the lock, it echoed as loudly as a slap.

This was a dance that we’d performed many times over the years, and we each knew our part to perfection. We’d come to learn what the other wanted and – more importantly – what we needed. 

I had a small desk set against the far wall, for those occasions when I needed peace and quiet to write reports. Captains didn’t warrant their own office. Today (and all the todays that had come before) it didn’t matter. All we really needed was a single chair, but even that was just a prop.

When he was done with the door he pulled the chair into the middle of the room. He didn’t look at me. 

Affecting boredom, I watched as he removed his jacket and hung it over mine on the single hook fixed to the door. Practicality meant that he had to leave his harness behind; wet leather, when there’d been no rain for days, was hard to explain. But it was a shame – I loved tightening the straps around his naked thighs. As much as he loved having them tightened. 

He sat in the chair, back slumped, legs spread. Only when he was in position did he finally look at me. The low fire in his eyes made me fully hard. 

I stalked to my desk, pulling open a drawer to remove several short lengths of dark cord. I closed the drawer with a slow, measured push, enjoying the aural stimulation of smooth surfaces sliding together.

He held his arms behind the chair. I bound his wrists. Not tight enough to leave marks, but enough that it would be difficult to struggle. Then I moved to his legs, pushing his knees further apart, wrapping the cords several times around his thick, muscular thighs and calves, and the legs of the chair. Tighter than his wrists. 

When I was done I caught his eye. He nodded, almost imperceptible. I nodded in return and tweaked his bolo. 

Then I walked over to the window, leaned with my back against the deep sill, and waited. I watched him with lazy interest as time passed, keeping my posture loose and relaxed. I had all the time in the world. He did not.

After twenty minutes he began to shift on the seat. His movement was restricted, but he still tried to pull his legs together. The rope bit into his thighs. His hips rose. He let out a single gasp.

The muscles in his jaw clenched. He drew a sharp breath, foot jiggling. He’d regained control of his full bladder – for now – but experience had told us both that it wouldn’t last long.

Sure enough, a few minutes later he was straining at the ropes again, head bowed, hips shifting. I moved closer for a better look, pushing his head up. I enjoyed the way sweat beaded on his skin. He looked at me with desperate eyes, but neither of us said a word. 

I leaned down to kiss him. He turned his face aside; I pulled him back, gripping his chin in my fingers. I brushed my lips over his while at the same time pushing down on his lower stomach. 

He groaned and struggled even harder against the ropes. I stepped back, arms folded, eyes glued to his crotch. A tiny, frantic noise slipped out of his mouth. 

A wet spot darkened the fabric of his trousers. Shame and arousal had turned his face a deep, ruddy colour, and he was breathing hard, struggling to retain his already tattered control.

Another desperate noise, locked between his teeth. The dark spot grew larger. It spread over his crotch. 

I heard the faint noise of liquid dripping on the floor. His head dropped lower but his control was gone now, as lost as his pride. His trousers were soaked, wet patches spreading over his thighs. The fabric clung to his cock, clearly showing the outline of his erection.

He panted, the picture of shame, of rejection. He was beautiful like this. I’d never told him – life had beaten the sentimentality out of us both – but he knew how I felt, particularly in moments like these. Later, he’d pin me to the bed and fuck me raw, his body weight grinding me into the mattress. But right now he trusted me – to keep his secret, to take control when his world was spinning, to show him that he wasn’t alone.

To make him shudder and shake until his come splattered my shirt.

I bent in front of him and pulled his hips forwards. The bulge of his crotch was obscene and he still wouldn’t look at me. I took my time unfastening the buttons, heedless of the moisture on my fingers, until his cock was free.

His cock was a fucking work of art. Long, thick, his skin light and pink apart from the head, which was a deep and intoxicating shade of red. Veins pulsed along the shaft. Bracing myself with one hand against his wet thigh, I curled my palm around his cock and jerked him with quick, hard movements. 

He arched off the chair, head thrown back so that I could see his face. Each rapid exhalation brought with it a whine of pleasure. 

His orgasm wrenched a cry from his throat, and I never tired of hearing that sound. When he topped he was quiet, stifled groans in my ear the only noise he allowed himself. Here, under my direction – my control – he’d discovered a kind of freedom that he found nowhere else. 

The first shot of come landed on my cravat. The second hit my shirt, followed by a third, a fourth, each lower until his cock finally stopped twitching. I moved my sticky hand away and wiped it on a dry section of his trousers. 

He slumped back against the seat, panting. I tugged at the knots binding his legs and moved behind him to untie his hands.

He didn’t move. I took his chin between my fingers and tilted his head back and to the side for a slow, lingering kiss.

He slipped out of the chair and onto his knees. I moved in front of him, sliding a hand through his thick hair, waiting while he unbuttoned my trousers. His mouth was on my straining cock before it was even fully free.

It didn’t take much – a few hard sucks, the feel of his hot, wet tongue sliding over me – and I was coming, thrusting deeper into his mouth, watching his throat move as he swallowed. 

I smoothed his hair back from his sweaty forehead and helped him stand. There was clean water in the wash stand, and a fresh pair of his trousers in my wardrobe. I leaned against the wall and watched as he changed.

Finally he plucked his jacket from its place on top of mine. When he was fully dressed he was the Commander again, and I knew that this session was well and truly over. 

A single nod and he was gone. 

Every time, I wished that he’d stay.


	2. Levi's Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a scouting exploration goes disasterously wrong, Levi needs to know that someone he trusts is in control.

It was several more days before Erwin and I were alone again. We’d taken cadets out into the field, but the weather had cursed us and we’d been separated. We’d both suffered Titan attacks. 

He’d brought all his cadets home. I had not.

His group had found the temporary safety of trees. Mine had been caught in the open. I’d fought hard, even breaking my personal best for number of kills in one encounter, but the cadets were too slow; too frightened. It hadn’t been enough. _I_ hadn't been enough. 

It was gone midnight when I knocked on Erwin’s door. I hoped he was still awake, but didn’t want to disturb him if he wasn’t. His low voice brought me into the room.

It was more finely appointed than mine. A double bed, a large wardrobe, a coat rack. I had a desk… but he had a study. I locked the door and hung my jacket over his on the rack. 

He was sat on the edge of the bed – I’d interrupted him in the act of undressing, but I suspected that he’d been like this for some time, waiting for me. His shirt was gone, exposing a broad, muscled chest, the light mat of golden-blonde hair covering his nipples and abs. His uniform trousers were unbuttoned. He hadn’t yet removed his boots. I focussed on the shape of his erection pushing against the crotch of his open trousers.

I dropped to my knees between his open legs and eased his cock out. He let me admire it, feasting with my eyes. His hand curled around the back of my neck and pulled my open mouth over his cock. I relaxed my throat as he pushed deeper, but still gagged. His fingers in my hair pulled me back an inch. 

I braced my hands on his thighs, enjoying the way that muscles flexed beneath the fabric of his trousers. 

He controlled the movement of my mouth. The wet slurp of my lips over his shaft was the loudest sound in the room and I loved it, craved the feeling that came when he dictated the action. He made no sound, but the way his fingers threaded through my hair – the occasional hard tug – was enough.

He pulled my mouth away. My jaws were aching but I didn’t care. I knew what he wanted, because I wanted it too.

His hard blue eyes glittered as I stood. My fingers grazed my erection and he knocked my hand away, lightly slapping my arse. The sting went straight to my cock. 

Facing away from him, I knelt on the bed and sat up, palms flat to the blanket. Sometimes he made me wait for minutes, sometimes longer. I’d once waited half an hour – eyes fixed on the far wall – listening to the slick sound of his hand on his cock.

Today I didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before he knelt behind me. Strong hands unbuckled my belt. Deft fingers unfastened the buttons. He pulled my trousers and pants down as far as my kneeling position would allow, then shoved me forward. 

I sprawled on the bed, arms in front of me. He grabbed my hips and lifted them, yanking my trousers down below my knees. My cock brushed against the blanket and I ground against it, desperate for any kind of friction, but he gave my arse another warning slap. Harder this time. I shivered and was still.

A rustle of fabric. The clink of a buckle. The snap of a bottle being opened. His hand traced the shape of my arse, and I pushed back against him. 

Cold lube against my hole. The sting of intrusion. 

His fingers were long and thick and he took his time stretching me until the sting became warm pleasure. It was impossible not to squirm. 

The fingers were withdrawn. I pressed my hot forehead against the cool blanket, waiting for the moment of ultimate submission, needing his control, his order, the certainty – the safety – of his command. 

His cock pushed against my hole. The sting became a burn until he was buried deep inside. I drew breath after short, shallow breath. His hand curled around the back of my neck.

His body covered mine, the first strokes slow as I adjusted to being so completely filled. His free arm slid beneath me, cradling my chest, while the hand on the back of my neck moved to my throat. Sometimes I begged him to choke me. He never did.

He settled into a steady rhythm, his body weight driving me into the mattress. It was smothering but I wanted that, needed his weight holding me down. Each hard thrust pushed the air out of my lungs. His breath whistled in my ear. 

His sweat dripped onto me, his body heat intense, fuelling my fire. He fucked me harder. The hand on my throat moved to pull my chin up. 

I came with a helpless wail, without ever having to touch my cock, feeling each hot, wet spurt pulse over the blanket and smear my clothes. His orgasm followed as mine tailed off; after a dozen furious strokes he stiffened, a groan clenched between his teeth. 

I trembled as the aftershocks gradually faded. He pulled out and I felt empty; wet, gaping, his come trickling along the crack of my arse and onto the already sticky blanket.

He moved off the bed. I waited. Another rustle of cloth, another clink of a buckle. I imagined him adjusting his clothes. I felt the touch of a cool, damp cloth as he wiped me down.

I tried to sit up. My arms and legs were shaking. He helped me stand, then tilted my chin up. The kiss on my mouth was gentle. His lips brushed my forehead.

He handed me a clean uniform and watched as I changed. 

I was almost at the door, adjusting my cravat, when his voice stopped me.

“Stay?”


End file.
